Maybe its to cope with having to second-handedly deal with your shit.
"Don't judge me," you say,
as your eyes slur around the room.
Your ranting now meaningless,
and your apologies pathetic.
The constant battle of trying to help,
whilst trying not to get infected.
How years have passed,
with no significant change.
Just more reasons,
as to why you are what you are.
My insides age,
Yet I am masked by youth.
A shell of skin fills the room,
But I am no longer present.
You took my life,
away from me.
As a compromise of being unable,
to take your own
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